


Tone and Time

by Nixargument



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14894093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixargument/pseuds/Nixargument
Summary: Set during Order of the Phoenix. Canon-divergent. Snape-centric. The year begins, but nothing happens the way it should. Romance. Not Snape/OC.





	Tone and Time

It was apparent that Potter had escaped the clutches of the law again. It defied belief, in the current climate, but of course Dumbledore had something to do with it. I put down the newspaper and gazed around the staffroom. Flitwick was stoking the fire, McGonagall was reading the article aloud and Professor Sinistra was glancing in my direction. Luckily, Umbridge was not yet present; I knew her by reputation – a very unpleasant woman.

McGonagall finished the article, gave a terse sigh and sipped at her tea. Madam Hooch I had not noticed until now – she was tying up her dirty boot, which, strangely, was not even on her foot. I expected her to be the one to comment first on the article, but for once she had no loud, generalized remark to make.

“Sinistra,” said McGonagall, suddenly, “what do you think?”

Sinistra was still looking at me. Appearing to awake from what was apparently a fugue state, she answered,

“What? Who’s asking?”

McGonagall allowed herself a small smile. I settled for a snort.

I readied myself to say that I was not inclined for conversation, in case anyone were to ask, but soon a rather long nose entered the doorway, followed by the person of Dumbledore.

“Severus,” he said, “a word?”

I got up and followed him without a great deal of acknowledgement. Sinistra’s eyes were following me. I allowed her a small look.

As Dumbledore was walking toward the stone gargoyle that led to his office, he said,

“I’m expecting a meeting with my brother tonight, so let’s make this quick.”

I raised my eyebrows, betraying, hopefully, less surprise than I felt. I usually succeeded in such attempts; thank goodness.

“Your brother is coming to the castle? That is very out of his way – very odd, or have you been seeing more of him of late?”

Dumbledore glanced at me over his shoulder. He was walking very fast.

“He is coming to introduce me to a young man of seventeen, whom I have never met before, who I understand to have some sort of significance to Aberforth. Search me for the reason; I simply cannot think of what it could be. Such things do bother me, I admit. The fact that he did not explain what the significance was, frightens me more than anything.”

I made a sound that signified perfect agreement, coughed, and said,

“I am petrified. Such concealment does not bode well.” I had a theory, but Dumbledore gave me such a look that I remained silent.

“Your guess shall be mine, Severus. I do not think I need give it much thought,” his heeled boots echoed in the closed and narrow stairwell.

“But to take a lighter note, Severus, how is Meg Chomes?”

He lowered himself into his chair and allowed me a flash of his glasses.

I made a polite movement.

“Still very much in love?” he smiled and offered me a sweet. For some reason I took it and chewed harshly.

“I cannot think why,” I said in as acid a tone as I could bring myself to muster. I could hear my own tiredness in my voice. “It is certainly not common that a student makes her interest in a teacher so extremely obvious, in such a way as to attract the notice of the entire school. She herself is very pretty, so she cannot want admirers. I wouldn’t be surprised,” I heard myself continuing, “if she was under some sort of a love potion, a joke.”

“I highly doubt that, Severus. If people are mocking you, do not take it too lightly. You ought not to be mocked, and I mean to make that quite understood. It’s strange, people are not looking down on her so much as they look down on you for supposedly managing to charm her.”

“Managing,” I snorted. “I made no effort in that quarter, as you can well imagine.” I was worried now. What did Dumbledore genuinely make of the pretty seventeen-year-old who apparently saw me as an object of brazen admiration?

“Well, enjoy the approval of your intimate friends, the teachers. They find it a subject of very moving humour.”

“I shall enjoy it only insofar as I can take pleasure in rejecting it.”

“Well, each to their own, Severus,” he was wrapping and unwrapping a sweet. “Anyway, moving on, - I wanted to organise a special class this evening. Under the stars in the Greenwell Glade in the Forbidden Forest, I would like you to take the best of the Astrology and Potions students to look for ingredients, and to take in an Astrology lesson. Professor Sinistra shall accompany you. How does this sound?”

“Greenwell Glade? It is known to be safe, but how many potions ingredients could they find simply in the glade?”

“I have had Hagrid grow and drop manifold ingredients in the area for the students to find. A lovely idea, isn’t it? Very romantic. Then you shall all have a beautiful sleepover under the stars. I find learning as you are falling asleep very relaxing.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said impatiently. “You just think it’s pretty to imagine a whole group of students in a glade chatting about Astrology as they fall into a light doze. I suppose Professor Sinistra and I will be kept up all night keeping watch.”

“That is what I assumed. But then, Professor Sinistra probably wouldn’t mind staying up and keeping watch with you. In my opinion…”

“Keep your observations to yourself,” I snarled. “I…that is absolutely none of your business; it is hers.”

“And not yours?”

“No, certainly not mine. I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in any of what you are implying.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dumbledore, in what I felt, in a general way, was sincere, “I get quite frivolous when I’m nervous. It’s a shame you don’t know me better, Severus.”

I made no answer. Dumbledore was still unwrapping and wrapping his sweet. I felt there was a certain absurdity about the situation; I was done with the old man. But I had a vague curiosity to keep the conversation going until Aberforth arrived. Dumbledore often had me in his office when there was an important matter to be discussed. But it was less certain that this matter would be of importance; still, I had definite interest in understanding more about this young man.

As soon as I had finished a light muse on the subject, the door burst open and Aberforth came in, unwrapping a scarf from around his neck, his mouth open with exertion. Dumbledore stayed sitting; I stood, in case I was to be dismissed. Dumbledore seemed to think of dismissing me, but at the last minute waved me back into my chair with a calm hand.

“What is this?” asked Dumbledore lightly. He looked around his brother’s form to see a young man entering the room very quietly.

“I’m Jay,” said the young man, whose name, apparently, was Jay. Aberforth hovered.

“Well, Aberforth, explain yourself,” said Dumbledore icily, “do not abandon him to explain himself when all this majesty is before him.” Dumbledore often made self-depreciating jokes like this. He looked in a jolly way at Jay, who looked like he was having a heart attack.

Aberforth looked sullen and determined. He gestured.

“Aren’t you going to ask the boy to sit down. I’ll stand.”

“Where are my manners,” said Dumbledore, who conjured a new chair out of thin air; I noticed the chair was rather handsome, just like the boy. “However, I think I may know what this is about.”

Jay did not sit for almost fifteen seconds; then, he came over to me and offered his hand. I took it, shook it, then folded my arms.

“Professor Snape,” I said with a sort of wild calm. I recognised the boy’s face. It was almost perfectly reflected in a picture that stood in Dumbledore’s bedroom, of Dumbledore and one other person.

“It’s very well to meet new people,” said the boy in a cheerful, light manner, “but I’d like to know what this is about.”

“Haven’t you told the boy who he is?” asked Dumbledore calmly. “And how is it you come to know the boy?” His face looked sallow, shocked.

“Jay was raised,” said Aberforth abruptly, taking a breath, and eyeing Dumbledore, “by Rosalind – as you know, a close friend of mine. Jay, quite frankly, you’re Gellert Grindelwald’s grandson.”

“Let me show you, Jay,” said Dumbledore, suddenly calm and polite, very white-faced, sweeping upstairs, then returning with the framed picture. He displayed it to Jay in a sweeping movement. Jay took it with forced calm. He looked at the people in the picture, who had their hands behind their backs in an attitude of formality.

“I see,” said Jay frankly, standing up, “and who knows this other than yourself, Aberforth?” I was surprised at the authority of his tone.

I notice details at odd times, and I was surprised to see that one of Jay’s eyes was a different colour to the other; a light blue, rather than the Grindelwald grey.

“Rosalind,” said Aberforth, “took you in for very good reasons. I don’t know another witch so kind. But I have something else to say. You’re not only Gellert’s grandson. You’re also my grandson.”

“How can this be?” I was standing before I knew it, standing in great shock; I admired the boy’s calm. He stood with a rather nothing-meaning expression on his face.

“Gellert’s grandson and your grandson?” Dumbledore thundered, ripped forward and took the boy’s face in his hands, and said something very unexpected, “are you lying?”

“Not at all,” snapped Aberforth, angrily and gruffly, through a great amount of beard. “I’ve known it for two weeks, mind you. Rosalind was the one. She traced it back. We had a son, Humerus, who, as you know, is a damned Death Eater. You didn’t know he was my son, but – “

Dumbledore sat down faster than I had ever seen him do before.

“Yes,” I added, “the Muggle-killer. Detests Muggle-borns, and Muggles themselves, and kills them for sport. Doesn’t he use Fiendfyre – yes? Burns them to death? But sir…”

“I knew my mother was a person called Viola. That’s all I knew,” said Jay, quite blankly, “…so.”

We all sat then. Aberforth collapsed into a chair in the very corner, I sat, Jay sat, and Dumbledore was already sitting. There was a very long silence. Eventually Jay broke the silence, saying,

“I don’t know what this all means,” he said. “Everyone looks very shocked. But why should they be? Is it not mere coincidence? You all look as though this ought to mean that I am somebody very important, and I am not. I was raised by the mother of the barmaid of the Three Broomsticks, and I’ve had rather a lovely time of it.”

Dumbledore smiled. I knew he would. I knew that this attempt of the boy’s at the pretence that he ought not to be important despite his famous relatives, would charm him. Was it a pretence? I could barely read the boy. Despite my best efforts, he was true to his lineage; he defended his mind impressively.

“That’s true, Jay,” said Dumbledore, lifting his nose, “but won’t you greet your grand-uncle and grandfather?”

Jay’s eyes nipped closed and then open; he looked a little surprised. Then, he came forward and gave Dumbledore a hug with his arm around the old man’s shoulders, then Aberforth, rather more familiarly. Dumbledore could not keep his eyes from the boy’s face.

“Didn’t you ever wonder,” said Dumbledore, calmly, “why you were not sent a Hogwarts letter?”

“Rosalind told me she received one, but did not show it to me; I found that suspicious, even at ten. She told me she wanted to raise me at home. I remained suspicious, but could see no reason to complain. May I change the subject?”

“No, you may not,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I want you to know that Rosalind lied. I, also, want to know why she lied.”

“I didn’t say that I wanted to know why she lied,” said Jay, still with the same odd authority to his tone, “I simply said I was suspicious.”

“That shows a sort of lack of curiosity,” I remarked, still wide-eyed with surprise.

There was a slight crash in the corner of the room. Aberforth had been tinkering with one of Dumbledore’s instruments, and it had fallen to the ground. Aberforth snorted.

“Damned trinkets. Spindly little things.”

We all ignored him.

“Whether Jay wants to know whether or not she lied, I have now told him,” said Dumbledore, “I apologize if the news is unhappy to you. I understand you must love Rosalind very much. She must be, perhaps, the only mother you have ever known.”

“I do, but if she lied, I am sure it must have been for a good reason.”

“She wanted to keep you to herself, no doubt,” Aberforth said, shoving the delicate instrument, now in a sort of shiny, delicate ruin, back on to its pedestal. “You’re a charming boy.”

Jay blushed. Dumbledore was starting to cry.

“No tears, Dumbledore, tell the boy more,” said Aberforth, snorting, then smiling at his brother’s tears.

Dumbledore was howling with emotion. I turned immediately with concern, and Aberforth raised his eyebrows, but Jay acted decisively. He immediately went to the man and put his arms around him, twisting his head toward him, to look him in the face. Dumbledore kissed him gently on the mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said in a deep, passionate voice, “you must allow for the scars and the sadness of a sensitive old man. Would you – would you like to be friends with me?”

“Yes, of course,” said Jay, looking with concern into the limpid eyes of the old man.

“Then I’m happy,” said Dumbledore simply. He dried his tears and said, “refreshments, anyone?”

“No,” we all said.

After he had recovered and poured tea for himself, Dumbledore went on.

“You did not receive a letter, because I must not have wanted you at the school. That is the only reason a letter would not have been sent.”

“I see,” said Jay, sitting back down in his armchair after being on his knees beside the old man for a number of seconds. “I am not curious as to the reason, and do not want to hear the answer.”

“Thank you, Jay!” Dumbledore said, breaking into an enormous smile.

Aberforth suddenly cried,

“Why not? Why on earth not? Boy, why – I mean, Dumbledore, why did you not want him at the school? To teach him yourself? You could have given him personal guidance!”

“He might have been a prodigy but for your interference,” I said, I admit in a sardonic tone.

“Ssh, Aberforth,” Dumbledore snapped in a way that reminded me very much of what their relationship must have been as younger men.

“Fine,” Aberforth said, angrily, “now that the boy’s your own personal friend and project, he’ll have no more need of me. You tell him your version of the family story. You bring him up under your wing. Why, you might even stop him from seeing Rosalind. Fine.” And he turned, and, before anyone could stop him, rushed out of the room. Jay winced at every step Aberforth took down the stairs.

“I always liked Aberforth,” said Jay, interrupting Dumbledore, who had been about to speak. Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind. “I’m glad he’s my grandfather.”

Dumbledore was quiet.

“I hope so, Jay,” he said, suddenly without energy, “and I hope you may see him as often as possible, and get to know your grandfather. I, of course, despite what Aberforth said, am entirely secondary, an arbitrary grand-uncle.” I noticed that he watched Jay extremely closely as he said this.

“You will be my headmaster; I expect we will meet mostly in that capacity.”

“What do you mean?”

“I intend to enrol. I would like to attend Hogwarts, if you would accept me.”

“I do,” he said with a heavy look, looking out the window in the direction of Hogsmeade. “Shall we sort you now?”

“Do you prefer any particular house?” I asked politely, reaching over for the sorting hat, which was near me.

“Oh, yes. Gryffindor.”

I sneered. I really couldn’t help it. Albus seemed delighted. He beckoned the hat from my hands to his, and he placed the sorting hat on his grand-nephew’s head.

“Slytherin!” the hat said, in what was almost an alarmed voice.

The hat fell off.

“I – didn’t mean for that to happen,” said Jay in almost a hiss. “Pleasssse forgive me.”

Dumbledore and I both laughed, because of course the boy was joking. But now that he was in Slytherin, he didn’t look disappointed, or say anything about wanting to change. On the contrary, he looked almost proud. Dumbledore was looking at him, and I realised what he was seeing: Jay’s grey eye was staring directly ahead with complacent pride while his blue eye was watering and worried. His two eyes worked independently of each other! Dumbledore stood up.

“Jay, where did you come by those eyes? No, why do I ask? The blue eye is from my family, and the grey one from Grindelwald’s. Well, Slytherin it is, then. Far be it from me to disparage any one of my beautiful houses.” I noticed he was suddenly serious. “Well, your Head of House happens to be present. Would you like a tour of the castle? I will take you on one tomorrow, and show you every nook and cranny. However, Professor Snape can walk you to your dormitory, and find spare books and school things for you.”

“I’ve already got my school things,” said Jay, smiling and blinking, “I had planned to ask you if I could attend, not knowing what kind of meeting it was to be. Well, Professor Snape?”


End file.
